Science for Morons
by redwalgrl-RG
Summary: The laws of science are unfairly rigid, as Pietro learns after a collision with the side of a building. --Eventual LancexPietro--
1. 101: Physics

**Science for Morons**

_Course 101: Physics_

"A body in motion stays in motion."

_The laws of science are unfairly rigid, as Pietro learns after a collision with the side of a building._

* * *

The whine could be heard from his room. It was reaching an octave that could break glass, and vaguely sounded like his name. He was not awake, and he was not going to deal with that jackass at five in the morning. A brown eye slipped open and caught the neon green numbers proclaiming it was seven-fifteen on the dot. Groan, roll over, put pillow over head. Repeat once the whining gets louder.

He wouldn't have much longer, he knew that. When it came to Pietro, that boy could whine for hours straight without batting an eye. It was even worse now, since the accident. Why the hell did Lance have to deal with him, huh? Because he was the most responsible? Because he was the team leader? Bullshit! Pietro always whined until he got his way anyway, Lance was more like a figurehead, forced to do whatever the hell his whiny queen demanded. The image of Pietro in a dramatically gaudy red-and-gold ensemble, bearing a jewel-encrusted crown and glass slippers was nearly too much for the earth-shaker. The floor rumbled with his snickers.

"Heyheyhey! I felt that! Get your ass down here! Laaaaaaance!"

Yes, that was Pietro all right. Fred would still be asleep for several more hours (unless Pietro's wails and demands for attention went unanswered, then he'd barge into Lance's room and put the rock-tumbler's head through the wall) and Todd usually hopped out of the house around this time to avoid Pietro's daily early-morning complaints. It hadn't been that long since the incident, but already they'd adopted a routine.

"Laaaaaance!"

"Ugh, fine. Fine. You win! Keep your pants on." Lance groaned loudly, knowing Pietro was straining downstairs to hear him, but not in the mood to raise his voice further. The speedster hated waiting; ironically he'd be doing a lot of waiting in the upcoming months. Yawning, Lance dragged himself out of bed, pulled on some pants that were still relatively clean and hadn't made their way into the over-flowing laundry basket yet, and headed downstairs. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, far enough away so Pietro couldn't see him yet. Another yawn, followed by stretching and cracking his knuckles, and Lance finally graced Quicksilver with his presence.

"About damn time! Do you know how long I had to wait for you? Huh? Do ya?! Too long, that's how long! I couldn't even keep track because the stupid clock's busted. Who the hell broke it? Todd? Nah, it was probably Blob. –Anyway! Why the hell didn't you get your ass down here sooner! I could have tried to move and _killed_ myself, and how would that make you feel, huh Mister Responsible Team Leader?"

"Are you done yet?" Pietro's rambling involved a lot of hand motions which always amused Lance. Right now though, it made him tired to watch the other move around like a kid fed Pixie Stix. "Because I honestly don't want to listen to you right now." Well, no one ever said Lance wasn't honest.

He received an icy glare from his comrade, who now had his arms folded tightly over his chest. "Yeah, well, you're a douche." It was one of his better comebacks, he'd long since run out of them at the X-Geeks' manor weeks ago. Being on full-time Pietro Watch was more exhausting than Lance had figured. As soon as Pietro had healed, he was going to take a long nap.

"How long do you have left?"

"Forever," Pietro whined, a pout accompanying the accusation, "doctor Beast—that's a horrible name to go by, even for a mutant—said it would be like, two months or something."

"Two months?" Lance stared at the other mutant in disbelief. "How the hell can a broken leg heal in two months?"

A lightning-fast shrug, and Pietro launched into his explanation, "Mutant. Duh. I'm fast, therefore my body is fast. Therefore I heal quickly." He still didn't seem very pleased, and attempted to squirm into a more comfortable position on the couch. "I hate this! I can _so_ walk! It's no big deal! C'mon, Rocky, pull me up!"

"No, especially not after that." Lance hated the nickname. Rock puns were _his_ thing, not Pietro's. Even with the other's mingled pout-glare Lance made no attempt to move from the armchair he'd found himself in shortly after Pietro's rant started. The speedster had the couch to himself, seeing as how he couldn't possibly get upstairs on his own, and Lance had no intention of carrying the little bastard up and down stairs whenever he wished. He wanted to hand Pietro over to the X-Men actually, but that would be like backstabbing his best friend—yes, it was quite sad, to be best friends with such a brat, but Lance wasn't exactly the most popular guy anyway—and if there was one thing Lance refused to do, it was that. They were the _Brotherhood_ after all, and he intended to keep the four of them together, even if that meant putting up with Todd's stench, Fred's eating habits, and Pietro's… well, Pietro-ness.

"Well, two months isn't _that_ bad," Lance ventured slowly, watching as Pietro's glare deepened. How much longer until the speedster had glared a hole straight through the Responsible Team Leader? It was a rather amusing thought, and Lance couldn't help but chuckle.

"Oh sure, laugh all you want. I swear, the moment I'm back on my feet…!" Pietro couldn't even finish his threat, instead cutting himself off with a sigh. "Whatever. What-the-hell-ever." He squirmed again and let out a shout as his ankle hit the arm of the couch. "Ow! Oh holy god! Oww! Dammit!" His cusses shifted into Romanian and he clutched at the brace supporting his ankle on his non-broken leg.

Lance winced, though made no move to aid the other. "Serves you right for wiggling around like that. Once we get you a wheelchair you outta be fine."

That earned a wail from the speedster that finally woke Blob, as evidenced by the loud crashing sound from upstairs. Pietro's mournful cry immediately stopped, deciding not to tempt fate when it came to Blob's hurling-some-unlucky-mutant-bastard's-head-through-the-wall skills. It wasn't like he could run away anymore. "I hate you." He instead directed his anger at Lance, who merely shrugged in response.

"Not my fault. You're the one who thought it would be smart to attempt to scale a building."

"I could've done it, I just didn't get up to speed quick enough!"

"Uh huh. Now tell me you can walk on water."

"I can! Well, not walk, but I can run across water. I'll show ya sometime, Rocky." Lance's expression clearly stated that he didn't believe it. Not that he had any reason to, Pietro had never actually run across water, just like he'd never really run up the side of a building. It had seemed like a brilliant idea though, and it would have worked if only the glass windows hadn't been so thin, and the laws of physics weren't so damn brutal.

Their discussion was cut short by an intrusively loud ringing noise, coming from the direction of the Brotherhood Boarding House's only phone. It had been in Mystique's room for an awfully long time, but with her out of the house it was more convenient to keep it in the hallway. "I'll get it," Lance volunteered needlessly. It wasn't like Fred would get it, and Todd was still out. Pietro was shooting a glare at the phone, apparently blaming inanimate objects for his current position. He was over by the phone in a moment, and picked it up before it could reach the fourth ring (a new record, unless he was expecting a call from Kitty); "Hello?"

The voice on the other end of the phone certainly wasn't Kitty. "Hello, Lance," Professor X greeted, and Lance got a strange feeling that the Professor wasn't actually using a phone. Psychics freaked him out. "I was just calling to see if things are going okay over there. I trust that you're taking good care of Pietro, but if you need any help you can always come to the X-Men."

Groan, roll eyes, make a gagging motion in Pietro's direction. "Uh huh, sure Prof. I think I've got it pretty well covered." Lance didn't give him the chance to say anything else, instead dropping the phone on the receiver. "Talk about trust issues. He could have just read my mind, but no, he has to call and act like things are A-okay."

Pietro rolled his eyes in response. "That's the X-Dorks for you. They've always gotta rub it in our faces that they've got it better than us. Screw them."

"Yeah, screw them." Lance echoed, turning to look at the couch-bound speedster, who was once again attempting to squirm around to keep moving. It was almost _funny_, Pietro relied so heavily on his legs and to have one broken and a sprained ankle… Well, needless to say, Lance had spent the first few weeks laughing whenever he saw Pietro. Those first few weeks had been spent at the X-Dork Manor, since the Brotherhood couldn't exactly afford to pay for a doctor. Besides, no doctor would be able to help Pietro – not unless they knew a thing or two about mutants. At least Pietro would heal quickly.

"LanceLanceLanceLanceLaaaaance! Pay attention to me, dammit!"

But not quick enough.


	2. 211: Psychology

**Science for Morons**

_Course 211: Psychology_

"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves."

* * *

If Lance knew anything about the Brotherhood, it was their unwritten rule regarding those of the female persuasion. They weren't allowed. Sure, Mystique ran the Brotherhood, and they had dealt with Rogue and Tabitha, but there were no women permanently in the Brotherhood. What kind of self-respecting woman would manage to live in a house with Todd's stench, the massive amount of filth, and _Pietro_? Honestly, that womanizer would scare out even the least-feminine girl to set foot in the boarding house. Lance was convinced this was really why Rogue and Tabitha left. Not that Rogue and Pietro had much interaction before she ditched, but that didn't bother the earth-shaker. He was certain Pietro was the cause of their female problems.

So when he came home from the exhausting task of getting groceries and found the boarding house populated by women, Lance came to the only reasonable conclusion. "Pietro!"

Unsurprisingly, the injured speedster was surrounded by ladies. How he did it was a mystery Lance desperately wanted to solve. What did Pietro have that he didn't? Kitty certainly didn't fall to her knees like these desperate saps. Honestly, Pietro? He couldn't possibly offer a woman anything, other than a chorus of whines and speedy sex. The mere thought of sex involving Pietro made Lance shudder. Ugh. Do not want. "Hey, Rocky."

"Don't call me that."

"Just thought I'd invite over a few friends--"

"A few?"

"--since I'm stuck in the house anyway." Pietro ignored Lance's interruptions. He effortlessly shifted into Romanian to entertain the numerous girls surrounding him, several of whom were being used as a cushion for his injured legs. Apparently speaking in a foreign tongue was sexy. Lance silently cussed; too bad he didn't pass Spanish.

"Look, we all have to live here, and if you keep inviting over your..." Lance paused to evaluate the giggling blonde girls, "...friends, then we're going to have problems, Pietro."

The speedster rolled his eyes. "Oh please. I'm injured! I can't very well go to school like this, now can I? That means someone's gotta bring me my homework, and you certainly wouldn't go out of your way to help me!"

Lance nearly replied that he already had, but it seemed Pietro had lost interest in him again. The older mutant threw up his hands in surrender and stalked off. "Stupid Pietro," He grunted.

"They gone yet?"

His attention was diverted toward the end of the hallway, where two doors were opened just enough for two heads to pop out. Todd looked as amphibious as usual, albeit rather terrified of the female population downstairs, and Fred had that don't-make-me-choke-a-bitch look on his face. "Yo, 'Tro's hoes seriously need to get out. I'm like, not allowed to go downstairs while they're around, yo!"

Honestly, what could Pietro do to Todd now that he was immobilized? Lance didn't pose that question out loud though, for it probably hadn't even occurred to Todd. "I dunno. He seems pretty content."

"Yeah, that's the problem." Fred pointed out. "Whenever he's happy, the rest of us are miserable."

That was certainly the truth. Lance winced, wondering how he was going to manage to kick Pietro's girlfriends out of the house without arousing suspicion from the neighbors. They had called the police three times within the last week alone -- any more and even Magneto would get suspicious. "Look, I'll see what I can do, okay?"

With Todd's fervent nod egging him on, Lance headed back downstairs and into the foyer. He didn't get a chance to order the girls out though, for suddenly the Brotherhood's door was kicked inward, literally. "Alright, where is he!?"

No one in their right mind would confront an irate Mystique, and it seemed the girls knew better than the Brotherhood. They quickly made their exit stage left, leaving Pietro alone on the couch. "Uh, uh, I can explain?"

"No you can't." Mystique brushed by Lance as if he wasn't even there. That didn't faze the rock-tumbler any, he'd rather not be yelled at by their terrifying leader. "You managed to break your leg, and sprain your ankle. Do you know how bad that makes me look!?" She demanded, lifting Pietro up by the shirt-front amid his lightning-fast protests. "Magneto's going to have my head when he finds out!"

"If he finds out," Pietro added swiftly. "And besides, it's not like he really cares what happens to me."

Normally this would have caused a moment of silence while Pietro angsted and the other Brotherhood members looked on awkwardly. Instead, Mystique threw Pietro back on the couch, ignoring his yelp of pain. "Dammit, and here I thought I could leave you brats alone and go on a vacation..."

"_That's_ where you were?" Lance asked, incredulous. He shouldn't have opened his mouth though, and figured that out as Mystique chucked a vase at him. In retrospect, why did the Brotherhood have a vase anyway? It wasn't like they needed it for flowers, and it certainly wasn't a wise idea to have anything breakable within reach of four mutant teenagers.

"Yes, that's where I was!" Mystique snarled, though her attention wasn't on Lance anymore. "I can't believe this."

Apparently the noise had attracted the other half of the Brotherhood, for Fred came thundering down the stairs, followed by Todd. "Yo, what's up -- Mystique!?"

Another vase was thrown at Todd's head. Where did she get those things anyway? "I hate you brats!"

"Love you too," Lance grumbled in an undertone. Thankfully she didn't hear him, or if she did, she chose not to throw another vase at his head.

"Alright, listen up." Mystique placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the mutants under her command. "I'm going back to the Bahamas. When I get back, this house better be clean, and you'd better be on your feet!" She pointed an accusatory finger in Pietro's direction and the speedster opened his mouth to protest. "Don't give me excuses, give me results!" She morphed into a raven, and before any of the Brotherhood could say anything else, took flight out the window.

Silence reigned for nearly a minute before Todd broke it with an aptly placed, "What a bitch!"

* * *

School. There was nothing Lance despised more, except perhaps Pietro's incessant whining. Like Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Scott Summers and Jean Gray, Lance was in his senior year, getting ready to graduate. Which really meant he skipped half the classes he was supposed to be in, and spent the other half goofing off with Fred. Todd was the youngest, and as a Freshman, he got no respect. Not like he really deserved any anyway, and he usually had to catch a ride on the bus thanks to Fred and Lance ditching school. Pietro was a Sophomore, and he still wound up in nearly all of Kitty Pryde's classes. Apparently she was smart. That only pissed Pietro off more. Lance probably would have been seeking out his on-and-off girlfriend, but he had more important things to do.

"Hey, Spikes," He finally found that pincushion. Evan was annoying, but even so he was one of the more tolerable X-Men. "You're on the basketball team, right?"

"Yeah, what's it to you?" The pincushion asked. Lance could have swore he saw little spikes popping out of the guy's skin already.

"Hey, chill out. I'm not here to fight." Not that he wouldn't mind it. Of course, the X-Men never played fair and backup would surely arrive to kick his ass. Ugh, why didn't they ever play by the one-on-one rules? "Look, Pietro's injured, so I need you to tell the coach that --"

"No way, Pietro's injured?" Evan's smirk could have rivaled Mystique's. Lance repressed a shudder. "What did he do this time?"

Lance shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, tell coach 'Tro won't be showing up for any practices for awhile."

The smirk widened, if that was even physically possible. "Really?" Lance didn't like the way Evan said that. "Can do. Let 'im know I'm so sorry for his injury." The sarcasm practically pooled around his feet.

"Yeah, sure." Lance slid out of the locker room at a speed that would have made Pietro jealous. He didn't know much about Pietro's extra-curricular activities, except that he loved basketball and made the rest of the track team look bad -- but he did know a problem when he saw one. Evan had something planned, and Lance didn't like it one bit. "Better let 'Tro know." And thus ended another school day in which he accomplished nothing.

* * *

"Hey, I told you to bring me back some chocolate! I'm dyin' of starvation over here!"

As soon as he walked in the door, and Pietro started complaining. Lance sighed. "Too bad, I forgot." He shrugged off his backpack and tossed it in the middle of the hallway as usual. "Told Evan to tell the coach you're out for an injury," He remarked as he made his way into the kitchen, digging around in the refrigerator for a soda that wasn't half-consumed.

"Oh really?" Pietro drawled in an attempt to mock Lance's voice, "Do tell."

"He seemed really excited about it. I dunno. It was creepy." Lance tossed a Sprite in Pietro's direction as he entered the room, taking one of the chairs for himself. He popped the top off the Coke bottle and snatched the remote from the hastily-constructed table that served as Pietro's little bedside nightstand.

The speedster shrugged, indifferent. Or at least he was, until Lance actually found a decent show on. "Oh my god!"

"I thought you didn't believe in god."

"I'm Jewish, Lance, shut up." Pietro retorted, then finally finished his thought, "Basketball tryouts are coming up! Oh god, Evan! He's going to take my place!"

"Your... place?" Lance asked, though he really had no interest in Pietro's current ramblings. He'd rather watch the old reruns of _Saturday Night Live_ that were on.

"Yes, my place! Center forward! Oh god, that jerk! Ugh!"

"Uh huh," Lance nodded, pretending he was paying attention. That only pissed Pietro off further, and he got the phonebook chucked at his head. "Oww! Dammit, why the hell do you even have the phonebook!?"

"Eh, no reason... Prank calls." Pietro shrugged. "I'm here all day by myself, I've got to come up with something to do!"

Lance rubbed at his head. Stupid Pietro. Two months wouldn't pass quickly at all, especially if this was how each day was going to play out. "Y'know, sometimes I really hate you."

"Aww, how sweet," Pietro replied, voice leaking venom in much the same manner Evan's had earlier that day, "that means you have to like me sometimes."

"You know the more you talk, the less I pay attention, right?"

"Go to hell."


End file.
